


piling sandbags on parapets

by alessandriana



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Episode Tag, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, this is literally just 3k of Keith taking care of Shiro ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-22 03:44:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7418539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alessandriana/pseuds/alessandriana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's really not that bad," Shiro said.</p><p>Keith shot him a look of raging disbelief. "Pidge said you got <i>tortured</i>." </p><p>(Episode tag for Fall of the Castle of Lions/Tears of the Balmera.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	piling sandbags on parapets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pentapus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pentapus/gifts).



> @pentapus SO THIS ENDED UP TAKING FOREVER I'M SORRY orz
> 
> anyways i hope you enjoy!

"Are you sure you don't want to go into a healing pod?" Keith asked, as the others filed out of the infirmary. Lance rested in a pod behind them, uncharacteristically peaceful. Shiro hadn't moved from his position leaning against the wall. He looked like he'd fused there, actually, like he intended to stay until Lance woke up again. Keith would have been happy to let him-- hey, man, whatever worked; if watching over Lance all night made Shiro feel better, then good for him-- except that it'd been over an hour since Keith had found Shiro handcuffed and on his knees in the crystal room, half-conscious, and his color still hadn't recovered. "You look like crap."

It took Shiro a second to refocus on Keith, and the smile looked like it'd been dragged out of him. "I'm fine. Thanks."

Keith ran his eyes over Shiro, over the red burns on his cheek and the scores across his armor, the distant look in his eyes, the way he was holding himself like someone had scraped his insides hollow, and said, "Bullshit."

Shiro huffed out a breath of laughter. "I'll _be_ fine," he clarified. "Really, Keith. Thank you." His smile was closer to real this time, and Keith hunched his shoulders against the almost painful twist in his chest. He wanted to believe Shiro. It would be _easier_ to believe him, to leave him here and go to his room and sleep-- because Keith was exhausted too, and he could still smell the smoke of the burning village on his skin and hair, and he wanted a shower and bed like nothing else. But Shiro hadn't moved from his perch, and Shiro had looked after Keith at the Garrison too often for Keith to just leave him here looking like death warmed over.

"Shiro..." he sighed. _I'm worried about you,_ he wanted to say, but he didn't have the words for it. He could solve immediate problems though, so he settled on reaching out a hand to tug Shiro's arm free where a cut on the back was still bleeding sluggishly, and said, "At least let me take a look at those scrapes, alright?"

"It's really not that bad," Shiro said.

Keith shot him a look of raging disbelief. "Pidge said you got _tortured_." 

“Wouldn't be the first time,” Shiro said without thinking. Keith wasn't entirely sure what kind of face he made in response to _that_ , but Shiro winced. “Sorry, I shouldn't have said that.”

Keith growled. “Oh my god, you're an idiot.”

“What?” He was honestly baffled.

Keith punched the bridge of his nose. “Shiro, just _please_ let me take a look at you.” Pulling out the dirty tricks, he added, “It will make me feel better.” He wasn't even lying!

Shiro blinked, and his shoulders eased. “Oh. Well. In that case.”

Keith lifted his eyes up to the heavens. " _Thank_ you. Just-- c'mon. Sit down. Take off your armor, while you're at it. I'll dig around, see if I can find some bandages or something." He tugged on Shiro's arm, and Shiro gave in, allowing himself to be led. The only seating in the room was the stairs, so Keith guided him down onto one of the steps still well within view of Lance's healing pod. Shiro sank down like his knees had given out. 

Keith knelt next to him and held Shiro's hand up to the light to get a better look, grumbling to himself, "I mean, god only knows what sort of horrible alien bacteria there is out here. I don't think we have any antibiotics, so if you get an infection, we _will_ have to shove you in a pod."

Shiro's breath hitched at that, just a little. Keith only noticed because he was so close. Shiro's pulse pounded rabbit quick under his fingertips. Instinctively, Keith ran his thumb over the back of Shiro's hand, automatically soothing; then stopped just as quickly, feeling awkward about it. Maybe Shiro was claustrophobic. It wouldn't be surprising after everything that had happened to him. "I guess they are kind of creepy, aren't they?"

"It's just weird, seeing Lance so quiet." Shiro glanced away with a half-smile. Keith could spot a deflection with the best of them, and wow, was that ever one. "Kind of ironic, right? You don't miss all the talking until it's gone."

" _You_ might miss it," Keith grumbled. He couldn't help but shoot a glance over his shoulder, though, at Lance frozen in place with that bizarre peaceful expression. He already looked a little better than he had when they'd put him in; at least the visible injuries had scabbed over. Keith had a brief, visceral flashback to the moment Lance'd passed out in his arms after the fight, heavy and unresponsive-- the way he'd had to carry him to the infirmary, head tucked into the crook of his neck, because Pidge was too small and Shiro was too injured-- he grimaced as he identified the weird sensation in his chest as _protectiveness_. Ugh. He wasn't used to worrying about people, or caring about them. He'd never had anyone before this; aside from that brief period of time at the Garrison, he'd been alone most of his life. He still sometimes debated whether it was worth it, but-- he glanced up, at the way Shiro's gaze had gone distant and shadowed-- apparently he couldn't help himself. 

"It's just-- he shouldn't even have to be in there," Shiro added, like he couldn't help it. Like a confession. He sounded worn thin. "If I'd just paid more attention, I should have realized they were coming in. And then in the fight, I didn't do a good enough job protecting him, I went off to fight Sendak and I didn't think about the other Galrans..." 

"Have you suddenly developed magic powers?" Keith interrupted. 

"What? No." Shiro turned wide eyes on him, startled temporarily out of his guilt trip.

"I'm just checking, you know, since that's apparently a thing that's possible now," Keith said. "Because the way I see it, the only way you could have prevented everything that happened today is to have seen the future. And you can't. So it's not your fault, and you shouldn't feel guilty about it." 

"I... guess." Shiro turned away and ran his hand over the back of his head, clearly unconvinced. His body language screamed that he wanted to drop the subject, though, so Keith let it go, even though it felt like a bad idea.  

"Ok. I'm just... gonna go find those bandages." It was a relief to stand again and focus on something else for a minute; searching the cabinets lining the room was a decent distraction. 

He'd been half-afraid that the Alteans used the healing pods for everything and wouldn't have any regular medical supplies, but he got lucky; a cabinet in the corner held a store of items, some of them more recognizable than others. The bandages at least were obvious, and he popped caps off and sniffed at bottles until he found one that smelled suitably astringent. The last few weeks had been a crash course in the Altean script, and he thought the writing on the side said something about cleaning. Hopefully it was disinfectant, not floor cleaner or whatever.

Grabbing them both, he headed back to Shiro, who had gotten as far as removing the upper half of his armor before he'd just kind of stopped, arms crossed over his knees and his shoulders slumped. Bruises and scrapes littered his upper arms and chest, though it looked like the armor had taken the majority of the damage from the fight. What really caught Keith's attention, though, were the scars that littered Shiro's skin-- some healed more cleanly than others. A few stood out: a long slice across his abdomen, like a sword cut; a round divot just above his hip where something had punched through; a patch of shiny burn scars on his left pectoral. The worst, though, was the mass of knotted tissue where his bionic arm fused with what was left of his right upper arm, metal melding into flesh. It was horrible and painful looking, and Keith found himself having to look away abruptly, anger and nausea churning in his gut. It took him a long moment to regain his equilibrium; he breathed carefully through it, and gradually it receded, enough for him to school his expression at least. Thankfully Shiro was too out of it to notice Keith staring.

Up until this point, Shiro had always been very careful to keep his shirt on. Keith hadn't-- he hadn't realized.

Keith sank down next to Shiro on the steps. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't think of anything, so instead he just reached out for Shiro's hand again. Shiro let him take it with a passiveness that made Keith frown. He'd migrated back to staring at Lance's healing pod, and his muscles were tense in Keith's grip.

Well, maybe getting fixed up would help. Keith set some bandages aside and reached down to uncap the bottle of disinfectant at his feet. The smell rose up, acrid, and Shiro stiffened. 

"What?" Keith looked up to see Shiro staring down at him, pupils blown wide and color gone somehow even worse. "Aw, shit." Carefully, he capped the bottle again. "Shiro?" He'd only seen this a couple times, but Shiro's flashbacks-- or memories, or whatever-- were not particularly subtle. "Shiro, are you okay?"

"I'm--." Shiro blinked and shook his head, as if waking up. His breathing had gone ragged and he was shivering in little fits and starts. Keith curled his fingers around Shiro's wrist, with half-formed thoughts that the touch might help ground him. "Sorry, the smell just--." He stopped again, and tried on a halfhearted smile, as if once again trying to make _Keith_ feel better. Shiro'd always had a tendency to ignore his own problems for the good of the group; it had been bad enough during their time at the Garrison, when all it had meant was him pulling all-nighters to tutor the younger students during finals week when he himself had a test the next day, but these days it was even worse. Keith _hated_ it. "...Long day, I guess."   

"Did you remember something?"

Shiro's smile faded again. "Is it that obvious?" Keith shrugged. Shiro ran a hand over his face. "Well, that's just... fantastic."

Keith focused on the floor at his feet, trying to give him a little privacy. "You're not wrong. It _has_ been a really long day." And Shiro had spent most of it probably relieving the worst of his time in Galran prison, and feeling unable to protect his friends. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." He knew how that was. There were things Keith didn't want to talk about, either.

There was silence for a minute, Keith just listening to Shiro's breathing, and then Shiro said, "I was just remembering-- we had to get patched up a lot. After the gladiator fights. That stuff, it smells familiar. I think they used the same kind, maybe?" He went quiet again, and Keith thought he was finished, but then he took a deep breath and continued, jerking his chin at the healing pods. "And I think I got put in one of those once." He made an abortive gesture towards his bionic arm. "Maybe twice?" He frowned. "I'm not sure."

"God," Keith said, feeling sick. He had absolutely no idea what to say in response to that. He wished suddenly, fiercely, that any of the others were still here. Hunk, Pidge, Allura, even Lance-- they were all good at the comforting thing. Keith-- wasn't. Earlier efforts just made that obvious. "I'm sorry," he said roughly. "That-- that sucks." 

Shiro let out a tiny surprised huff of laughter, though it was more troubled than amused. "Yeah, I guess it did." 

Keith ducked his head and focused on other things, because the expression on Shiro's face right now made him want to hit things, and there was nothing here for him to hit. He realized he was still holding Shiro's hand, the human one, but the fist of Shiro's bionic arm was opening and closing reflexively on his knee; Keith wasn't even sure he was aware he was doing it. He didn't know what else to do, so carefully he gathered that one up too, so he was holding both Shiro's hands in his. They'd had a few seminars on how to deal with stress at the Garrison, and physical contact was supposed to help, right? Though he supposed he didn't know for sure if Shiro even _could_ feel anything with his right arm-- or if Keith's touch was nothing more than bare pressure, stripped of all other sensation. The metal was cool under his own fingertips, and smooth, with no evidence of the destructive power it could channel.

He turned it to stare down at the palm, at the perfect way the joints melded together, and unwillingly his mind continued down that train of thought. How _had_ Shiro lost the arm in the first place? Had it been lost in a fight-- or had the Galrans taken it off deliberately? Either way, the scar tissue showed it hadn't been painless. Keith swallowed against the bile and rage. He'd give just about anything to get his hands on the Galrans who had done this.

Keith only realized his grip had gone uncomfortably tight when the fingers of Shiro's left hand twitched and he made a tiny noise in the back of his throat.

"Sorry," Keith said, releasing Shiro immediately and flushing with shame. 

"No, it's fine," Shiro said quickly. "My fault. I shouldn't have said anything-- I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." 

"What?" Keith frowned, looking up. Shiro was smiling that same horrible half-smile again. It made Keith grit his teeth. "I wasn't uncomfortable," he said severely.

Shiro's eyes flickered towards him and then away. "Oh?"

"No. As a matter of fact, I was just fantasizing about kicking some Galran ass."

That at least startled an actual laugh out of Shiro, so Keith counted it as a win. He reached out again and grabbed Shiro's hand again, careful to keep his grip gentle this time.

"Seriously, though. Whoever did that to you. If there's anyone in particular you want murdered, I have a giant magic lion, I can make it happen. Just point me in the right direction." Shiro clearly thought Keith was joking, but Keith _wasn't_. "I can start with Sendak, he's right downstairs."

Shiro turned his hand around and gripped Keith's wrist tightly. "Keith..." 

"What?" Keith set his jaw mulishly.

"We can't just go around murdering people."

 "Why not? People die whenever we blow up a Galran ship. How is that any different?"

"That's in a fight. Sendak is in our custody; it's not the same." Shiro was frowning, eyebrows drawn down with that particular expression that Lance always called his Dad Look. Keith bit back a snarl; _Shiro_ had been in _Galran_ custody, and look at what they'd done to him. But Keith's goal here had been to make Shiro feel better, not worse, so he let it go.

"Ugh. Fine, whatever." 

Shiro's expression eased once it became apparent that Keith wasn't about to go haring off. "I do appreciate the thought, though." He actually sounded sincere. 

"Hmph."

Shiro's smile became a little more solid, and he jostled Keith's knee with his own. "Anyways-- you mentioned something about patching me up." 

Keith looked up again. "I thought you didn't like the smell of that stuff."

"I don't, but... you're right, it does need to be done. Is there anything else you can use?" 

Keith hesitated, thinking back over the contents of the cabinets. Half of the supplies had expired with age; it'd been only luck that this had been a sealed bottle. "I don't think so. Sorry."

"Then it's fine. Might take me a minute, but I'll get used to it." There was that self-sacrificing streak again, but Keith couldn't do anything about it this time. 

"Just tell me if it gets too bad, and I'll stop," he promised.

"I know. I trust you. You've been-- I'm glad you're here."

"Uh, yeah. Y'know. Sure thing." Keith ducked his head, feeling heat in the tips of his ears, and opened the bottle again. Shiro's hand twitched in his, but when Keith checked, his eyes were fixed and aware, focused on Keith. Carefully, Keith pressed the mouth of the bottle to wet the bandages, then lifted Shiro's arm to wipe away the dirt and dried blood. A little fresh blood welled up, so he grabbed a clean cloth and pressed it down until it stopped. He taped that down and moved on.

There was a rough red score on Shiro's shoulder where the join of his armor had torn at his skin; Keith spent a few moments blotting carefully at it, but it wasn't actively bleeding so he left it to air dry for the moment. Shiro's skin was warm and smooth under Keith's hands, and he relaxed gradually as Keith worked. Slowly his color improved, closer to his natural golden hue than the sickly gray he'd been before. 

The burns on his cheek looked like they needed attention too-- Keith reached out with one hand to Shiro's jaw to keep him still, and used his other to dab at the wounds. He could feel Shiro's pulse beating against his fingertips, a little too fast still, but not as bad as before. Shiro's eyes drifted down to half mast as Keith worked. 

"Alright if I get your back?" Keith asked, once he'd done all he could on the front. 

"Mmhmm," Shiro said, head drooping forward. Keith shifted until he was sitting a couple of steps above and behind Shiro, feet braced on either side of Shiro's hips so he was close enough to reach. He couldn't help but suck in a breath as he caught sight of the giant bruise developing on Shiro's lower back. "Does that hurt?" he asked, hands hovering over it, before dipping down to brush against the skin. There wasn't anything he could really do about it, though. Maybe Allura would know where he could find some bruise ointment.

"Not too bad," Shiro said. Translation: it hurt like a bitch but it wasn't going to kill him, so he was determined to ignore it. Keith suppressed an aggravated sigh. Reluctantly, he pulled away, and went back to work. A few cuts and burns on Shiro's back got the same treatment as all the others, though he had gotten lucky and most had stopped bleeding already.

"I think that's it," he said finally. "Anything else I missed?"

"I think that's good." Shiro straightened slowly, rolling his shoulders back. He was still moving like he hurt, and his right shoulder didn't look like it had as good a range of motion as his left. Keith frowned.

"Want me to get that?" he asked, hands hovering. "Your shoulder," he clarified, when Shiro glanced over at him, eyebrow raised.

"Oh, that? That's not from the fight, it's always like that."

Keith reached out, feeling the joint, careful to avoid the bruises. The muscles were incredibly tight, probably from the strain of having to haul the heavier arm around all day. Of course Shiro would think that was _normal_ , that there was nothing that could be done for it. "Can I try something?" he asked.

Shiro shrugged. "Sure."

Keith slid his hands along Shiro's skin, seeking out tense spots. He had no great experience in massage from this end of things, but he knew what worked on himself, so he tried to do that. Probably the worst was a truly impressive set of knots that had taken up residence just below Shiro's shoulder blade. Keith zeroed in on that, carefully digging his thumb in, keeping the pressure firm but not too hard. Shiro made a little noise in the back of his throat. Keith froze, unsure if that was a _good_ kind of noise or a _bad_ kind. 

"Uh, feel free to keep doing that," Shiro said, voice a little bit hoarse. In Shiro speak, that meant _don't stop_.

"Are you sure?" 

"Definitely." 

Keith hid a smile as he brought his other hand up and worked at the tight muscles, keeping it to long broad strokes for the moment as he felt the knots release. Shiro gradually slumped sideways until he was leaning against Keith's knee, a dazed expression on his face. His eyes fluttered closed, those ridiculously long eyelashes coming to rest against his cheeks. Once Shiro's shoulder was a little looser, Keith moved up to Shiro's neck and scalp, feeling the bristles of hair against his palm. They were just as soft as he'd always imagined. Keith felt himself finally, finally start to relax as well, tension bleeding out of him and breath slowing.

"Better?" Keith asked after a few minutes of this. When Shiro didn't answer, Keith looked down and realized he'd fallen asleep. His face was lined and exhausted even in sleep, but there was a peaceful cast to his features that hadn't been there before. 

Keith let out a long sigh, and let his head drop down until it was resting against the back of Shiro's neck. "...Idiot." 

He'd get up soon. Take Shiro back to his quarters, carry him if necessary. But for right now, Keith let himself sit there, letting the reality of Shiro under his hands, alive, a little battered but overall healthy-- and Lance still across the room, healing, healing-- and Hunk and Pidge and Allura and Coran up sleeping in their rooms-- let them all convince him that they all might actually end up being okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> ETA: Pentapus [made art for this!!!!!!!!](https://pentapoda.tumblr.com/image/147418720298) Check it out you guys, it's AMAZING.
> 
>  
> 
> Title is from the poem Aftermath by Siegfried Sassoon:
> 
> "Do you remember the dark months you held the sector at Mametz--  
> The nights you watched and wired and dug and piled sandbags on parapets?"

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] piling sandbags on parapets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11226915) by [alessandriana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alessandriana/pseuds/alessandriana), [sisi_rambles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sisi_rambles/pseuds/sisi_rambles)




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